Not a Hero
by Evil-Irish-Wolf
Summary: SLASH! Bats/Joker! The ultimate question, Bruce or Batman? Bats is struggling to find out who he is. Luckily, the Joker comes along and sorts that out for him. Sequel to He'll Show Them - can be read alone.


**Disclaimer****:** Property of: Warner Bros, DC Comics, Legendary Films, Chris Nolan, Bale and Ledger. *sobs hysterically over the unfairness*

**Warnings****: Slash! of the Joker/Batman variety!** Well there will be in later chapters!

_--This is a sequel, of sorts, to __He'll Show Them,__ but it can be read standing alone. **It's BATS' POV of HST.** It's what was voted for and I aim to please. I am thinking of ideas for a post-TDK themed fic, so if you stick with me, we'll get there eventually.  
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_--I am sending eternal thanks to my Beta, __**Compy**__! Without whom this fic would be total rubbish. _

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* * *

_**Not a Hero  
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**Chapter Title:** Something Wicked This Way Comes…

**By****:** EIW

"_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."_ -Kurt Vonnegut

* * *

It felt wrong.

It felt wrong to be sitting here in the massive skyscraper that was Wayne Enterprises. He was sitting contently in a black, overly expensive wheeled chair, swiveling back and forth, vaguely hearing the buzz of the boardroom presentations. His mind was elsewhere, dwelling on what was undoubtedly happening down below in the streets of the lively city.

Bruce knew that right at that moment people were being mugged, raped, and killed on the grim murky alleyways of Gotham. He knew that those incidents were happening and yet there was nothing that he could do. That's what made his stomach squirm and tie itself into never ending knots of guilt and anxiety. The fact that he couldn't do anything until the darkness of night covered the sky. He couldn't act until Batman was allowed to come out.

So he'd sit here and wait, while people suffered needlessly simply because it was daylight and the sun refused to set early. Bruce didn't like the sun. It made everything much more difficult. In the sunlight, he had to play the part of Bruce Wayne, billionaire trust fund playboy. It was a boring and meaningless existence and he frequently resented having to play the part daily.

He'd much rather be making himself useful. Fighting criminals, stopping the mob, and just saving the people of Gotham from themselves - that's what he did. That's what Batman did. He saved people. It was something that he lived for and it physically hurt him to not be able to do it. His stomach gave a sharp twist as the sun moved a slight bit downward. The orange rays of sunlight shined from the tinted windows of the tall buildings, making a dazzling pattern of light.

Bruce stared blankly out the window and hunched lower into his seat. He hated waiting. He supposed that is was from all the years of being a spoiled rich child. He rarely waited for anything, but this was something that no one could fix. Not even Batman could make the sun set.

Bruce's feet were tapping against the shiny marble floor in an impatient way. The sun was blazing low in the sky. It was almost time; just a few more minutes. He fidgeted slightly in his crisp suit. The shirt collar was stiff and itchy and the outfit felt foreign against Bruce's skin. Even though he wore one of these every day, he'd never really gotten used to them. He always felt odd without his Bat-suit on. He felt vulnerable and awkward wearing these expensive fabrics.

The Kevlar and nylon made him feel much more at ease than the cotton suit he had on now. He felt as if this was the real costume and the Bat-suit was his usual attire. Bruce thought that any psychologist would love to take a crack at him - he was just a jumble of childhood issues and social disorders. They'd probably lock him up in Arkham Asylum with the criminals he'd put away. If he was in a better mood, he might have been amused by the irony in that.

However, being stuck in a stuffy boardroom with infinitely boring people was not easing Bruce's ever worsening mood. He glanced at the streets again. The shadows from the tall buildings obstructed the sunlight. Their daunting shadows blocked the sun's rays from reaching the darkened sidewalks, and Bruce thought for a moment that he might be able to get to his real job a few minutes early.

All he'd have to do was stay in the shadows.

Speaking of which, he was still hunting the Scarecrow. He'd escaped Arkham and was now hiding on the streets, but people were still turning up with fear serum pumped into their system, some were still dying. He needed to take care of that soon, tonight if possible. Bruce ran a hand through his gelled hair anxiously. If he didn't stop his ever spinning thoughts, he was going to get a headache from the anticipation of tonight's happenings.

Lucius Fox looked at him from across the boardroom. Bruce quickly straightened himself up and pretended to pay attention to some random employee's presentation about money and the company or something. Anytime that Lucius gave him that look, Bruce felt like he was ten years old and in school again, getting reprimanded by the teacher.

Bruce fixed his posture and sat up straight in his chair, behaving himself. His eyes still darted to the clock and back towards the window, practically begging the sun to set. His black shoes began to tap lightly again.

This day was never going to end.

* * *

Lucius smiled to himself as he watched Bruce fidget around in his seat and become even more antsy as the sun began to fall slowly. Lucius turned towards the presentation speaker and focused his attentions back on the meeting. It was good that Gotham had someone so devoted to true justice. The city was finally looking like it was going to turn around. Crime rates were down and the mob was on their last few tricks.

The new DA was cleaning out the corruption of the government and all was seemingly to go on without a hitch. It made Lucius slightly nervous that everything was going so well, but perhaps he was just being pessimistic. Nothing too horrible could happen with Bruce on watch.

After all, Batman always saved the day.

* * *

The wind whipped harshly across Batman's suited body. His neck was stiff and his mask was restricting. It hadn't been a problem, but with the hand to hand combat that he was engaging in lately, the inability to move his neck was becoming a slight occupational hazard. He'd have to speak to Lucius about it later.

The wind was almost howling. It was rushing against his cape in a violent manner. Batman looked out across the brightly lit city. The tall buildings looked much more radiant at night. They beamed with white and yellow lights that glowed in the night much like the stars in the sky. It was quite a spectacular sight from this angle high above the streets.

But, somehow, the night felt different. It had for the last few weeks now.

Something was off, something wasn't quite right. As Batman focused upon his city, he struggled to grasp what was causing the nagging sensation in his mind. It tugged at his conscious and tapped against his brain. The longer he stared across the nighttime scene of Gotham, the more relentless the feeling became.

Something was wrong.

This thought blazed across his brain at a furious pace, quickly sparking a slew of imaginary scenarios and solutions to the undetermined problem. He dove off of the rooftop and floated down towards the pavement. As he glided through the buildings, Batman felt the intensity of the city.

He was suddenly struck with an idea, a wild thought.

There was a new presence within his city. It was shaking up the established order. The wind was rustling desperately through Gotham City. Something new had arrived and from experience, Batman knew that it probably wasn't pleasant.

Batman landed silently next to his car. The police radio system came through his helmet; an informant had the whereabouts of a drug drop off, which conveniently included a mobster and the Scarecrow. Two for the price of one. Batman smirked. He was certainly going to have a busy night. He jumped into his tumbler and skid off, as the Bat Signal shone against the clouded sky.

Batman could make out a few figures through the opening of the parking garage as he stood perched from an adjacent building. There were quite a few people, he thought, assessing the area and making a few adjustments in his plan. It wouldn't be too hard, but Batman knew from experience that the Scarecrow was not about to go peacefully. He knew all too well how some of the patients at Arkham were treated.

A few of the shadowed corners of the garage seemed to be moving slightly. A Batman copy cat stepped out. Batman almost rolled his eyes. These vigilantes always made everything extremely difficult. It was unlikely that he'd catch the Scarecrow tonight. These 'helpers' always seemed to get in his way. He sighed slightly and stepped onto the ledge of the building.

Batman pressed a few lit up buttons on his utility belt and saw his Batmobile begin to accelerate. A loud booming noise was the sign that he'd been waiting for. He jumped off the building and glided into a dark part of the garage. He quickly slid behind a large concrete column. The shadows clung to his black form as he slunk around the corners and expertly hid behind various objects.

He crept boldly forward as his vehicle fired a few warning shots. The criminals and Batman look-alikes scattered throughout the garage in a mass panic. Batman quickly grabbed one of the guns and crushed the end, effectively rendering it useless. He hated guns. They were used by cowards and bullies. No respectable person, criminal or otherwise, should ever sink to that level.

Batman stepped into view of the rest of the party and the chaos began. Guns fired, dogs attacked, and Batman found himself getting hit by a white van. He wondered vaguely how many white vans were sold to criminals in this city every day. It seemed like every criminal from experienced mobsters to first time offenders like graffiti artists had a white van. They were hardly subtle anymore. They practically screamed, 'I'm a criminal! Come and get me, Batman!'

The car dealer must make an obscene profit.

Batman paused for a split moment to gain his bearings. He took a deep breath and began to do what he did best - hurt the bad guys.

Finishing the last knot on the rope that restrained the vigilantes and criminals, Batman stepped back and began to move toward his car. His arm stung briefly in pain. He glanced at the tear in his suit, another scar, another reminder that he was still human even under all this Kevlar. It was always an annoying revelation and he seemed to remember this fact at the most inconvenient times.

"We're just trying to help you!" cried the "Batmen" in ridiculous outfits.

"I don't need any help." Batman growled.

"Not my diagnosis," Scarecrow said with a smirk on his face.

Perhaps Batman had too many cracks to the head tonight or maybe he'd just lost too much blood from the dog bites, but he almost cracked a grin at that little quip from the Scarecrow. There weren't too many people that Batman considered 'friends,' even as Bruce Wayne, and none that he had personal jokes with. It was oddly pleasant to have an inside joke of sorts with someone, sadistically crazed criminal or not.

The copycat still seemed to find injustice in the way he was being treated and yelled out, "What gives you the right?! What's the difference between you and me?!"

"I'm not wearing hockey pants," Batman said, sitting down in his car as the roof slide into place. The Dark Knight immediately relaxed his posture upon seeing the familiar setting that enclosed him. The luminous computer screens, buttons, and controls left him feeling at ease. This was one of the few places that Batman could let his guard down temporarily. He always felt safe and secure when he was in his armored tumbler.

Batman gave one last look towards his wrangled up criminals. He had seen a few get past, but he was more concerned about Scarecrow than the mobster at the moment. The ex-doctor in question was simply grinning as Batman began to drive away.

It was always nice to see an old acquaintances. He preferred to see them in locked in a room at Arkham or behind bars, but still, it was a nice to see a familiar face every once in a while.

* * *

As he drove on, Batman noticed that the Bat Signal was still radiating in the clouded night sky. He heard a few radio calls over his police scanner about a bank robbery. If Gordon had the light on at this hour, then he probably wanted something more than to just terrify criminals.

Batman pulled his car into a dark ally and leaped out, sticking closely to the shadows and heightened buildings. There were too many police cars with flashing lights. They made it difficult to slip into the bank unnoticed, but Batman had been doing this for too many years let this stop him.

He quickly walked past turned guards and knocked out a few well placed lights. No one would notice. This crime scene was a mess anyways. Someone had shot this place to hell. He'd tell Gordon so that the forensics wouldn't be disrupted, but with such corruption in the police department these days, Batman doubted that it would actually matter.

He made his presence known to Gordon as Ramirez moved the other officers out of the room. She was helpful, but Batman knew he couldn't trust anyone that looked that guilty all the time. Her eyes darted around far too much for her to be completely innocent. He didn't like it, but Gordon vouched for her and that was good enough for Batman, for the moment anyway.

Gordon held up a picture of the man with clown make up. This was the third time in the last few weeks that Batman had seen that picture. A twinging shiver wiggled up Batman's neck, causing an odd, weighted feeling to wrap around his head, brushing all other thoughts aside, making him focus solely on the man with ridiculous make up. Batman fought the odd reaction down. There wasn't anything spectacular about this criminal so far; his instincts were getting ahead of him.

He was becoming overeager at the thought of having a new enemy. They'd been fighting the mob for far too long. This clown was something new, something _different _and Batman always liked a challenge. He was just getting ahead of himself.

Still…there was something about the man.

"Him again," was all that he said to Gordon. Batman pulled out his radiation detector and began check out the money, looking for marked bills. Batman needed to get to work. He couldn't linger here for too long without some curious cop scampering in, trying to sneak a peek at the illusive Batman, and thinking about that painted man would just get his mind spinning in circles.

It was best to just get in and out.

Batman was slightly excited about finding the mob's stash of money. They'd played this game for months now and it was beginning to wear thin on Batman's patience. He could be patient for many things, but locking up criminals was not one of them. He preferred to get them off the streets before they could do more damage.

"Time to move in," he said as his brain began to fire into ignition, straining to find the best way to get the mob off the streets at last. Their reign of crime had gone on for far too long.

"…What about this Joker guy?" Gordon questioned.

Batman stared at him. That wasn't too bad of a question. It was obvious that this criminal was escalating. There was no doubt about that. Batman wondered if he'd meant to hit a mob bank or if it had been a coincidence. It seemed likely either way. The Dark Knight didn't have much to go on concerning the Joker. He needed more information to properly make that decision, but there just wasn't time.

"One man or the entire mob?" Batman asked rhetorically, trying to convince his own wavering thoughts that this was the right course of action. There was just something eerie about the clown that made him question himself.

"He can wait," Batman said, hoping that it was true. They really didn't have a choice, though. This "Joker" hadn't done anything more than rob a few banks and kill some petty criminals. The mob was more of a problem, far more of a problem for the people of Gotham. They'd waited for this and Batman wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

Still, he'd watch for this Joker. He'd keep an eye on him. Something told Batman that he'd be dealing with the clown soon enough.

They briefly discussed Dent, but Batman couldn't think about anything besides the mob and his newly developing plan. He'd fill Gordon in later and they could make the final preparations together. He liked making the plans. It never felt right if he was following someone else's. Call if control issues or whatnot, but Batman liked being the one who was always two steps ahead.

* * *

Batman found his car and drove off towards his home, which was currently in the harbor shipping yard. He pulled into the makeshift garage he'd built and climbed out, stretching his back as it groaned and cracked in protest.

He loved his tumbler, but there wasn't too much space to make it a comfortable vehicle. He pulled his mask off and moved his neck around cautiously. He really needed to get Fox to fix his suit, especially the mask. He was either going to be killed because he couldn't see when he backed his car up, or he'd get arthritis and not be able to fight crime anymore.

Bruce wasn't sure which scenario was worse.

He hauled himself towards the shower area. His injuries were making themselves known now that he'd taken off part of his suit. Once his suit was off, he was Bruce Wayne again. That was the routine, that was how it was supposed to be. However, every so often, Bruce would find himself acting like Batman without the suit.

He'd be sitting in his car, watching some woman being harassed or something similar and Bruce's brain would immediately go into 'Bat Mode.' Which wouldn't be too bad, but once his brain started sparking to life, his body would soon follow. Then it would be some awkward story in the tabloids about Bruce Wayne knocking out five full grown men and saving a poor citizen, which would more than cause suspicion to slink his way.

Bruce undid the top half of his suit and peeled it down to his waist. He carefully examined his arm. That was going to hurt something fierce to clean up. He begrudgingly opened the mirrored cabinet and rummaged through it, knocking various bottles off the small, cramped shelves. Several bottles opened and various antibiotics and liquids squirted out onto the counter and floor.

Bruce sighed in annoyance and ignored them. He'd clean it up before Alfred got there. Finally, Bruce found the clear container of alcohol and poured it onto his arm. The wound seared painfully in protest and Bruce gripped the edge of the sink as the pain wound its way up his arm. The wound changed from red to pink as the alcohol began to disinfect. He probably needed a tetanus shot as well. Those dogs were vicious.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. An array of black and purple bruises littered his body. Scars of all shapes were carved into his torso, branding him something not quite normal, staining him as Batman. Bruce knew where each one had come from. He brushed a hand over a few of the more painful ones, silently remembering each fight and who had given it to him. It was his way of remembering his mistakes and remembering what he stood for. His body wasn't important. Batman was important and so was the message that went with the suit.

Bruce thought vaguely that it probably was a good thing he wasn't actually in a relationship at the moment. These injuries were not easily explainable. After all, he could only go "rock climbing" so many times.

Bruce stared grimly at his reflection. He was truly proud of the work that Batman had done. However, the thought of doing this forever was downright terrifying. Bruce couldn't imagine existing like this, having no normal life, no friends, always being this lonely, always being this isolated from everything and everyone. The idea that this could be _it_, that this could be his life…always...that little revelation was always buried away, perpetually suspended in the recesses of his consciousness, smirking knowingly at him.

It could be easily contained when he was either Bruce or Batman, but during this transition, during the few hours that he was neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman, it blinded his thought process. It sat in the corner of his mind like dead weight, making it impossible to think about anything else.

Bruce shook himself out of his brooding thoughts and gave a final look at his hissing new wound, got undressed, and stepped into the shower. The steam fogged up the mirrors and Bruce reveled in the hot water. His joints and muscles warmed and relaxed in gratitude.

His transformation into Bruce Wayne had begun.

As Bruce got dressed, he knew that he'd have to sew the wound up. Alfred would reprimand him, but he needed to do it himself. It was a ritual of sorts, a routine. He got hurt and tried to fix it and then Alfred got fed up with his useless attempts and did it himself. Bruce liked that some part of his life was routine, however small and insignificant it was.

Bruce checked the clock.

It was only 7 AM. He had a few hours before Alfred would turn up, bringing food and lectures about having a ridiculously expensive house and not living in it, the usual morning greeting. The police scanners were quiet for once. Bruce glanced around. There wasn't anything that needed to be done. He'd already cleaned up his mess in the bathroom.

There was pendulous piercing moments that swung violently during the early morning hours where Bruce had nothing to do and Batman had no one to save. If there was one thing that both Bruce and Batman were not good at, it was idleness. The lazy feeling in the air stifled Bruce, making him feel unsettled and a little paranoid.

He glanced at the security monitors that showed activity outside his 'lair', as Alfred called it half kiddingly. Not a soul in sight. Bruce paused for a moment, turned around and began walking towards the outside. He didn't stray outside too much during the day anymore. He much preferred the night, but today he'd make an exception.

* * *

The salt water air felt good against his newly clean skin.

Bruce was watching the various ships going in and out of the harbor. His hair whipped around his face as the wind danced through it playfully. Bruce had grabbed a granola bar of some sort on the way out of the 'lair.'

He was slightly proud of himself as he chewed on the crunchy bar, sitting on top of a random storage box, legs dangling a few feet from the ground. There weren't many times that he actually remembered to eat. Alfred would be proud of him. He'd still make him eat more, of course, but he would be glad that Bruce had actually remembered that he was human and therefore needed sustenance.

Bruce looked out into the sea and leaned back onto his arms. His city seemed to be on the downhill stroll of becoming a better place. It had taken a while, but between Gordon and Batman they'd made this city a little better.

There was always work to do, but maybe, if this city finally began to turn around, Bruce could actually have a life again, a _normal_ life. He might be able to take a break from being Batman for a while or, if he was impossibly lucky, stop being Batman altogether.

Just maybe.

* * *

Thanks very much for reading! More slash in later chapters as seeing how this follows the movie. When the Joker gets his screen time, you all get slash time.

Please **review**! I'll give you lots of Bats/Joker P0rn! OMFGSOOOHAWT!


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